


Cohesion

by dianekepler



Series: Perquisitum [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: All The Regular Sex, Alpha Males, Anal Sex, Authority Figures, Headcanon, Het and Slash, Intercrural Sex, Internal Conflict, Multi, POV First Person, Self-Unawareness, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Prydwen, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Unusual But Not Weird Sex, Why Is There No Tag For Maxson's Coat?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianekepler/pseuds/dianekepler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brotherhood is unlike any military organization that Reese Logan has ever known, in more than one key detail.  </p><p>Thanks, Kicker, for your brilliantly snarky F!Soles. *salutes*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The mess hall was noisy, as usual. But even if I’d heard the message right, the meaning was beyond me

“He wants us to what?” 

She leaned across the table. “Attend him.”

“Okay …” I drew the word out and lifted it to let Haylen know that she had some ‘splainin’ to do.

“Paladin Danse didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” This time I gave her a frown — a really good one. They tended to work up here. Lower your eyebrows and everybody you outrank will just spill what they know, hoping they’d stay in your good graces. Three guesses whose fault that was.

She came closer. “I should start by saying it’s an honor.”

“I get that part.” Her wide-eyed gravitas said as much. “Hey, lean back before you get your fatigues in your soup.”

My favorite scribe straightened up with adorably adorably pink cheeks. Redheads, you had hand it to them. Multiple times, if you were lucky. That led to a whole ‘nother train of thought about our last round in Cambridge. I had to wrestle my thoughts back around to what she was trying to say. 

“He rarely asks anyone so soon. But you’ve proven yourself in the field and I’m sure he’s curious.”

“About what?”

“Your being from another time.”

“Haylen, I am honestly clueless here. Help a sister out.” 

So she did. 

And I’ve got to admit, I nearly lost it.

“Is he out of his mutfruit tree!?” 

Wide eyes and a bitten lip were my answer. Also, some lancers at the next table looked over. Okay, time to use my inside voice. 

“But he outranks us.”

“Of course.” 

“No, really outranks us. I mean, you and me — that’s one thing. Or Rhys and Danse.” I didn’t mention the time with me and Danse during the radstorm and again at Cutler Bend. No point in complicating things. Maybe all the crap Rhys was giving me meant he suspected I’d been hitting his Paladin— and not with a ball-peen hammer. 

But then something snapped into focus. If it was Haylen and me, and Rhys and Danse, and Danse and me and she was sitting there with “of course” on her mild and pretty face as she talked about Maxson and the two of us…

“This is a Brotherhood thing.”

A smile and a nod. 

Well, fuck. And here I’d thought myself this big seductress — just a couple months into the game with people willing to dodge the regs for me left and right. It also dawned on me that Rhys was probably just an asshole. 

“So, wait, if this is a thing, why did you shush me?”

“Because It’s bad manners to spread it around?” The look on her face said “well, duh.”

“Believe me, I am not trying to brag. This is —“ I put my chopsticks down because I’d learned the hard way that holding them with this much going on got soup in people’s eyes. “Look. In my time, fraternizing could get you thrown out. At the very least you’d get written up or dressed down”

She looked hopeful. 

“That means you’d get a lecture.“ Guess that idiom wasn’t the same after two hundred years.

“Then if … fraternization wasn’t allowed, how did you fight and die for one another?”

“We believed in the same ideals?” Haylen was smart. How was she not getting this?

“But when soldiers were away from their families, they must have been lonely and frustrated.”

“I missed Nate like you wouldn’t believe.” 

“And what about when you lost someone?”

When, not if. I was starting to see her point. I was also starting to wonder if the snaps at the crotch of my uniform maybe weren’t just for hygiene when you were spending entire days in power armor. 

“So what are the rules?”

“We try to keep relations within units. Officers are exceptions, the Elder being the biggest.” 

My mind was completely in the gutter by that point. Then my favorite scribe (although now, maybe not my only scribe) gave a knowing tilt of her head. “And he’s quite young.”

“Hence the two of us.”

“Oh no,” Haylen’s head-shake made her ponytail dance. “Well, perhaps. But mainly for protocol. He is aware you don’t know all of our ways.”

That was an understatement. “Tell me more.” 

It turned out that there were as many rules for how it all worked as ways to mod a laser rifle. They covered when and where things could happen, STIs, rights of refusal. At least babies weren’t an issue; we’d all had our shots like good soldiers, even me. When Cade had explained that during intake, I'd nearly hopped off the gurney to do an end-zone dance. 

Now I looked around. The mess hall was like any other in my career, with no one touching, or making eyes. Everyone hailed and _Ad-Victoriam_ ed, with more or less the same tight-assery I’d first seen in Danse. And hell, maybe after-hours funtimes were the reason everyone was so formal on duty. For all I knew, the “Hail, Sister” from an unknown knight was code for “Fine ass, Sister. Look forward to ‘serving’ with you someday.” 

I also listened. But there was no innuendo or baby talk, People traded news and insults, one-upped each other, and savored that eternal pastime of any armed force: scuttlebutt. I’d heard my share since coming aboard and no more of it was about sex than about brushing one’s teeth. The Brotherhood somehow managed to keep everyone sexed to the eyeballs while functioning as a cohesive organization. Hearts and minds. And junk, apparently. 

Haylen was watching me with grey eyes, maybe waiting for more questions. I gave her one:

“So, what if I say no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a while now I've been thinking "where's the love for Scribe Haylen?" Turns out it was on the Prydwen the whole time. :)
> 
> The soundtrack for this story is available on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/kepl3rian/cohesion) and [Soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/user-272077556/sets/cohesion). I apologize to fans of Spotify, but your site keeps breaking my browser.


	2. Chapter 2

Haylen’s face made it clear there was no chance of dodging this with without upsetting a lot of tin cans. To hear her talk, any ex-nay from my quarter would ripple all the way up to darling Danse (who’d known her since she started training — wait, had he _known_ her since she started training?) and get her busted down to scribe-initiate. While I doubted that would happen — there were no rumors about Maxson being vindictive — it was obvious how much this meant to her. 

My thoughts strayed to the Elder and how he’d no doubt picked Haylen as more than just a sherpa. The Brotherhood was her life. Scribe was also a civilian rank. It wasn’t in her to fight. I had to hand it to Maxson. Then again, he’d probably been immersed in tactics since before his voice — or other things, if I was going to be crude about it— dropped, so maybe this was par for the course. 

All this led to me squeezing water out of my hair at 2130 with one of those ridiculously small towels Teagan issued with a sneer that said trying to buy more than one would brand me a candy-ass for the rest of the tour. Pre-attendance showers were allegedly the norm. I hoped the same applied to everyone. 

I’d never seen Haylen so perky. The whole time we were in the showers she’d been humming away, with frankly adorable chatter about what to do with hair. If I’d had any hesitation left it would’ve vanished at the sight of her wrapped in that aura. Haylen glowed. It was a nudge to the ego, I can’t lie. Maybe I’d get a chance to raise the bar. 

She even got my uniform out of the ionic locker while retrieving hers — not the armor, since we were technically off duty. Her sweater and pants by themselves did a lot more to show off the ass-to-die-for part of Haylen’s anatomy, not to mention what she had up top. I’d always had more of what Nate used to call a dancer’s build, back when dancing was a profession and not something you did when raiders forgot to take the last ear of corn. 

I zipped and snapped up. Didn’t buckle my collar. That might be sending a “lay off” kind of vibe, when my actual take on things was a lot more complex. Although I was curious. Haylen and Danse had been giving me (heh) a feel for how the Brotherhood operated and this new data point wasn’t unwelcome. Meanwhile, my scribe was taking a little longer braiding her hair, all pink cheeked in the mirror, and ready to lead when we were done. That was a nice way to start the the evening, watching her ahead of me on all those stairs we had to climb. 

“Ready?” She asked when we got to the top.

He answered her knock with “Come.” I had to wonder if he was going to give that order again before the end of the night. 

Maxson was at a table in the center of the room, sliding reports into a folder. “Scribe,” he nodded. “Knight.”

What did he do when people’s ranks were the same? 

Of course, that begged the question of how often were there multiples, which forced me to admit that being able to use a duty roster like a menu was kind of badass, when you stopped to think about it. 

Speaking of which, the coat was off. I saw it hanging on a hook near the back of the room and as he took away the papers and brought back some glasses I had a chance to appreciate more of who we were going to attend or whatever the language was. Couldn’t say the view was off-putting. Couldn’t say that at all. His collar was open, same as mine, and the thatch of hair I could see there gave me a twinge. Or maybe it wasn’t the hair. Could’ve been the abs. Might have been his look, or the way he moved. I hadn’t been clocking any of that since coming aboard, but I sure was now. 

“Make yourselves comfortable.” Maxson set down the glasses and killed the overheads. An oil lamp on the table made it easier to forget that we basically inside a suit of power armor that flew.

We sat. There was a bottle on the table and he poured himself — wait, was that a Dalmore? I tried to keep the eagerness out of my nod when he tipped the bottle my way. If anything beat the view of Haylen on the way up here, it was a possibly-pre-war bottle of scotch. 

Then we drank, we talked. I had to give Maxson credit for being able to hold a conversation in what could easily have been a really awkward circumstance. He asked Haylen about her background. She gave it up about her family, especially a niece and nephew who thought well of Brotherhood and wanted to join it some day. I could see how this was soothing away her formality. 

Maxson knew better than to ask about my past. Instead, the queries directed my way were about settling in on the Prydwen and how people in the Commonwealth had changed since the war. My answers got longer and more detailed as the Dalmore warmed me up inside

He waited until I was in the middle of a story about the different ways that Vault-Tec used to get buyers’ attention. Then he held out a hand to my scribe — I guessed our scribe, because she went to sit astride his lap without him having to either, one, say a word, or two, break eye contact with me.

I kept talking. Tried to keep anything stupid from getting out as he began to get into it with Haylen. He massaged her forearms. It seemed like an odd choice until I saw how fast her eyes closed and her lips parted. It was a reminder that her day-to-day involved a lot of typing. 

Nice. 

When her head head fell forward, Maxson drew it onto the far side of his. “Go on,” he told me. 

I began to see what I was up against. Or would be up against pretty soon, if that was his plan. 

The end of my account had him easing Haylen away so he could kiss her. Her sighs and the sounds of them connecting over the hum of the Prydwen’s engines were really getting to me and the next time their lips joined, Maxson started kneading her thighs. He didn’t rush. 

I was rapt. Had to take another shot just to have my hands on something. 

This became especially true when a double handful of Haylen’s ass in the Elder’s hands had her groaning and tracing fingers along the shaved sides of his head. When he arbruptly jerked her against him, it made Haylen give up a sound like there weren’t several layers of clothes in between her delta and his. Maxson took the opportunity to pull her sweater up and off. Tank top as well. There was no bra — Haylen, you minx. And how the fuck had I missed that when we’d been getting dressed right next to each other?

Her mounds were creamy white against the darker skin of his hands. Her nipples were pink. Then they were wet and pink. He was holding a wrist, the one that would have been blocking my view, behind her with his opposite hand. With his near one, he was pinching whichever nipple he wasn’t enjoying with his mouth. Haylen struggled. Okay, it wasn’t struggling exactly. More like twisting. Definitely grinding, with a moan here and there. 

That was when Maxson looked my way. His expression hadn’t changed, although his eyes were darker. 

It occurred to me right then that people get good at things by practicing. I spared a thought about the kind commitment that got someone to this level and if I’d get to level up because of it.

“Knight,” he said softly. “Come here.”

Not soft exactly. Steel in silk. You'd better believe I felt it. 

Nonverbal cues got me to where I was standing behind Haylen and helping her get up. Then, before another minute had gone by, I had two of my favorite Haylen parts in my hands. His stayed outside of mine, pressing everything together. He paused to admire how that looked before bending to kiss her again. Then he went for me. It worked because Haylen was a head shorter than he and I were. Maybe she was getting to brush her nose against his chest hairs. But how was I even thinking of that when his hands were kneading my hands into her breasts and his tongue was sending shock waves all through me, was anybody’s guess. It was like there was some kind of parallel processing going on. 

He was undoing Haylen’s pants. She moaned and bent back so that warm skin of her back was fully against me. Then Maxson did something I’ll never forget. He took my hand, drew it down into her underwear, and then inside her. 

I gasped. 

His eyes bored into me. “Is she ready?” 

“Yeah.” I may have stuttered a bit. 

“Good. Undress her.”

 I lowered Haylen onto Maxson’s bunk, pausing to kiss her myself as I started to unlace her boots. She squeezed my butt and that was nice — to have my ass appreciated for a change. Made it harder to keep stripping her, though. But I finally, breathlessly, got everything off and scooted her to the edge of the bed and knelt so I could press my fingers into her again. It felt so slick and hot in there. And I could make her moan - I really wanted that. I wanted to suck her breath into my mouth and make her shiver and give up those cooing sounds she let out when she was too turned on to think about anything but getting off.

Meanwhile, she was pulling down the zipper on my uniform, sliding it off my shoulders and one of my arms. The other was still busy, at least until he — oh yeah, Maxson— leaned in from behind me and eased us apart so he could lift my right arm over my head and suck Haylen’s taste off my fingers. 

“You were right,” he said. 

I made a throaty sound. It could’ve been a moan. I was unconcerned by that point. 

He got me up to standing. Held me against his naked chest and very naked cock before taking my uniform the rest of the way down. Sank his teeth into the side of my neck so that a thousand gamma rays burst out from the point of contact. Haylen was picking up my feet one at a time as Maxson circled my navel with a thick finger. It would’ve done more good lower down. 

She stood up, then. Cupped me in that way she knew I liked, with her middle finger right along my cleft. It was in delicious contrast to what was nestled into the other groove in back of me, in fact the two of them were nothing but contrasts. His brawn and her curves, his musk and her more delicate scent, his even breathing and the pulse that thrummed in her other wrist when I pressed my lips there. 

I wound up alongside Maxson, with our scribe straddling two of his legs and one of mine. He’d positioned one of her knees so that it was in a really good place for me to grind on and I wasn’t wasting the chance, especially when he encouraged it with low words and my rank thrown in there in a way that made it somehow more exciting than my name. His far hand was splayed across Haylen with the pad of his thumb against her clit. She rode into it with her eyes closed. She moved her hips faster until he stopped her, took himself in hand, and started to brush his cock against her. 

Haylen practically keened. That frustrated little crease had come in between her eyebrows. She kept blindly trying to connect them, but his thumb on her clit kept her from pushing too hard or moving in any way that would let her sink down. 

“Sir, “ she gasped. That one word was a laser focused on a cup of water, the cup being yours truly. 

My hand was what he used to guide him in. 

They disengaged from me to really fuck; I didn’t mind it. She was radiant up there and I could see how he was using every stroke to send her higher. It fueled the way I was pressing my head against his shoulder, filling myself up with meager fingers that worked with their thrusts. Not even both hands, front and back, were enough. 

She came with a kind of sob, but even though Maxson slackened off the pace, he fucked her through it and towards his own release. He went rigid when it happened. Closed his eyes. Jerked her down one last time with a triumphant curl of his lip as I lay against them, panting, and very, very wet. 

Maxson gathered me in with an arm, though. 

When she’d floated back it was time for a bit of Haylen-in-the-middle, just resting, before he left us curled atop the rough wool blanket that we’d been rolling around on the entire time. 

A firm hand roused our girl from her drowsiness. 

“Scribe. You’re going to reward our knight for her patience.” 

She nodded. Flashed those sparkling eyes as she kissed her way down and then there —oh that was what I needed. I spread for her and got on that wonderful ride. 

It could’ve been the wait. Maybe the illicit thrill of helping her come undone. It might have been the fact that he was still watching from a chair beside the bed, as Haylen pinned my hands and, took control of everything else with her eager lips and tongue. I came so fast it probably set some kind of record. 

So he had her coax me through one more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still early on the west coast, so Happy Fourth everyone. Have some fireworks.


	3. Chapter 3

Life stayed pretty much the same after that. 

Ops continued. Nobody high-fived or tried to trip me when I came aboard to feed the proctors. Rhys was the same caliber of douchenozzle. I used my few days’ leave after reclaiming Fort Strong to dig around in Kellogg’s head, first in the obvious way and then later with the memory doc. It was tough to say which had been more harrowing - excavating the shattered blood and bone, or getting slammed by bizarre Stockholm feelings for poor little Conny and his mean ol’ dad, murdered daughter, and wasted life. 

The memetic film was still with me days later. It was the wading-in-tar feeling that used to linger after a regular, pre-war nightmare, or the one that had addled my brain those first few days out of the vault. So, yeah, my head wasn’t up to par. 

On top of that, the whole thing with Brandis was being handled like a metric clusterfuck. 

Danse and I had convinced the rogue paladin to come back to the Brotherhood in the grey hours before dawn. Maybe it was luck, or maybe he was too tired to argue anymore. Could’ve been my ultra-fashionable sunnies, for all I knew. A vertibird touched down soon after we’d radioed it in. Boots weren’t on the ground ten minutes before Brandis was back in isolation, hooked up to a reactor’s worth of tech and answering question after question about his team. We weren’t allowed to offer support, or even stay at the bunker while the scribes had their way with him. 

The whole thing left an unpleasant aftertaste. It was one reason I was lingering here at the airport, having a meet-and-greet with well-deserved beer número tres as I looked out over the ruined arrivals lounge and ran mental checklists. 

Let’s see, reports filed. Weapons fully functional. Armor serviced and in its frame until Ingram could get out from under her backlog to fine-tune the heuristics. This was the second time I’d swung around to aim at hostiles and tweaked my shoulder. My CO was convinced he’d done something wrong recalibrating the servos last week, but I doubted it. If there was ever someone who knew the nuts and bolts of the T-60 it was my man Danse. 

The glitching also just felt a lot more like a software issue. I’d worn primitive versions of power armor during my own years in the service and it was easy to tell when the suits weren’t learning my body’s mechanics. If only the armor knew as much as Maxson, I’d be home free. 

Ah, Maxson. The man Danse and I were supposed to see that night. And by “see” I didn’t mean wave at from the other side of the mess hall. 

Considering what’d happened last time I was semi-alone with the Elder, the cult of personality that had grown up around him made more sense. Clearly Maxson was S.P.E.C.I.A.L, with an S for skilled and the rest for increasingly dirty adjectives that came pretty easily to mind now that I was two and a half beers into the sunset and really thinking about this for the first time since Danse had stopped by that afternoon. He’d found me re-collimating Righteous Authority at the weapons bench. Even with guides, that kind of work took too much concentration for me to do anything except give my paladin a distracted thumbs up. 

I’d put thinking about it aside in favor of getting work done. But by now it was obvious that the roiling heat building up in me, had little to do with the ambient temperature of my beer. 

It was going to be one hell of a night. Unless…

Steps echoed from behind. I hoped whoever it was would see my ushanka hat over the top of the lounger and sit a respectable distance away. 

“Reese. What are you doing up here?”

It was nice to hear my name pass Danse’s lips, although I liked it best in an urgent whisper. 

I held my Gwinnett towards the sun. It was pretty how our distant fireball turned the brown glass into different shades of amber — a little modern alchemy for the poetically inclined. Or the buzzed. 

Looking up through my sunglasses showed me the Paladin’s discerning face and his frown. “Aren’t you still on Med-X for that shoulder?”  
  
“I can party and heal. It’s efficient.”

“But not optimal. And there’s a perfectly good rec room down the hall.” 

“Yup.” I decided to be opaque for once. 

Propping a foot up on another couch let me slide down in my seat, but it pushed off my hat and created a need to smooth my hair down.

Danse took the seat next to mine. “Is this about Brandis?”

I lifted my shoulders. “It bugs me, I’m not gonna lie.” 

We sat for a while. It was quiet enough to hear seagulls and surf. 

“It’s not how I would have handled the debrief,” Danse offered.

“Debrief?” My eyebrows went up; it could’ve been over the tops of my shades. “That, my brother, was a fucking interrogation.” 

“They had to make sure he wasn’t compromised.”

“He’d lost his entire team. Couldn’t they have waited until they’d brought him back? ”

Danse’s tone was even, but final. “You’re not in charge of intelligence, soldier. Neither am I.”

We sat for a while longer. 

“When were you planning on heading up? ”

A shrug from yours truly, and an offhand: “I don’t know. How much primping do you think I’ll need before the bowing and scraping starts? 

“Logan,” Danse had gone back to surnames. Too bad. He was about the only person besides Haylen who used my given. “Do we need to talk about anything?”

“We are talking.”

“About tonight.” 

That preposition, in Danse’s baritone, had me riding a wave of heat from my insubordinate pussy. I grinned over at him. “Sure. Got any pro tips?” 

“You don’t seem favorably inclined.”

“It’s not -“ _that I don’t want to be the meat in your Brotherhood sandwich_ , said my brain. I told it to chill. “This just doesn’t make sense. I mean, we’ve got how many thousands? Of personnel down here?”

“If I even knew that number, it would be classified.” 

“And he can take his pick.”

“Of course.”

That phrase again. Just like with Haylen, so matter-of-fact. I watched Danse over the lip of my bottle. He was such a stickler for the rules. Outside of bed, I amended. Get him alone and all bets were off. 

“So why is he having me again?”

“You would need to discuss that with him.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “Do me a solid and speculate.”

Danse shook his head. “It’s not my place. But I don’t understand this attitude. The Elder led me to believe you comported yourself with respect the last time.” 

And, boom, there it was: irritation grenade. “Well will you look at that. I got a gold star and everything.” 

“Once again, I fail to see your point.”

“Because everybody else would be jumping at the chance, right?”

We were in twilight now. I took off my shades, but that left me with no defense against Danse’s baby browns and his question: “Do you wish to refuse?”

“By all means, no,” I channeled Codsworth. “That would be indecorous. Unbecoming.”

“But you're of more than one mind about it.” 

“Ding, ding, ding! We have ayy winnah!”

Danse ignored both the English butler and carnie voices to keep the conversation on track. It was disappointing. I was hoping to make him smile, at least. 

“And the reason is?”

The shadows were rising all around us. Danse, in grey and orange, looked irresistible. Especially here, with his knees apart and hands knitted loosely together near his groin. I sort of studied his hands. Then I sat up straighter, trying to make it look like I didn’t want him to bend me over a lounger that very minute. Like I hadn’t been thinking about our times in the field or considering that with a little more time and sense of immediate security, he could probably disintegrate the logic centers of my brain.

And then there was Maxson. For all his personal faults, he was an alpha deathclaw in the sack. 

I took the last mouthful of Gwinnett and got up to huck the bottle far into the empty terminal, where it made the most melodic shattering sound on impact. 

“Guess I’m just old-fashioned. Don’t worry Paladin, I’ll get over it.”

He watched me. “I’m not convinced.” 

So I came over. Kissed him. His sharp inhalation sent a pulse beacon from my clit through my belly and nipples. Or it might’ve been just the feeling of his tongue pushing back into my mouth. His hands around my biceps. 

“We need to wait.” Danse's voice was hushed. 

“C’mon then. Let’s go get dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another setup chapter. Guess you're in for some smut.


	4. Chapter 4

A meeting was in overtime when we got to Maxson’s quarters. Danse and I had to wait outside until Gavil, Ingram, Quinlan, and Cade filed out. They nodded on their way aft, perfectly civil, like we were just there to report and not act as the supporting cast in the latest episode of _Where Can We Dock the Prydwen?_ Teagan, on the other hand, gave us the kind of look I’d’ve slapped off his face if it’d been just him and me. 

I sighed. There was always some asshole. 

“As you were,” said Maxson once we were inside. He hadn’t told us to stand at attention, and it seemed odd that Danse did, but it would’ve looked even odder if I hadn’t done the same.

The Elder was at his most casual in just a PT uniform. The jacket was unzipped enough to show the bulge of his holotags under the thin white cotton of his T-shirt. It reminded me of another bulge, which, of course, took me back to that lamplit moment nine days ago, when it’d been pressed into the crack of my behind. 

In the present, Maxson slung a towel over his shoulder and paused, with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be with you before long. Don’t wait.”

And with that, he left us alone in his quarters. 

When all faculties returned I said, “What. The hell. Was that?”

Danse cracked the seal on a can of water and took a long swallow before offering it to me. “Those were the Elder’s orders.”

Taking a drink didn’t curb my eye roll. “Just do it. Like ‘drop and give me twenty'?”

Danse shook his head. “Be patient, Logan. Let him relax.” 

“Oh I can wait. But does he expect me to just … “ I made a palm-downward spreading gesture near my groin.

My CO put the water back on the table pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I can help with that.”

Unf. 

He started undressing me with a matter-of-factness that was somehow hot. By the time we were down to our standard-issue trunks, Maxson’s sendoff was no longer a big deal. Danse had taken me to bed. He was kissing and stroking my skin as I traced patterns in the hair on his chest. My bad arm’s range of motion even got some attention. Was he testing to see what he could do with me?

“It’s good to see you again, by the way.” Danse was brushing his lips over mine. 

“Mmh,” I allowed, trying to capture his bottom one. “You mean it’s good to see me when there aren’t three Mirelurk Kings trying to blast our armor off.”

“That too.” He gathered my hair up, tugged, and my brain sent out a half a million rads. 

I ran a nail up the side of his neck, to a spot right under his ear. His eyes closed. We started kissing again, deeper than last time. It was so good being skin to skin, to feel him twitch and start to fill out underneath me. 

“So when was your last time?” I asked, on a hunch. “The plural you.”

“Back in the Capital Wasteland.” He was kissing a trail along my collarbone. 

Illegal fireworks shot through me as I imagined the two of them together. Maxson, a little less buff and a lot less full of himself. Eager, where Danse was calm. Less experienced, but topping, because he outranked Danse, even then. The instant holotape made me shiver. 

“You like that idea.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah. Did you?”

He gave a kind of shrug that used only the muscles in his cheeks. “I think this is going to better.”

It was hard to figure out if that was a dis, or just diplomacy. Doubly hard because Danse was pressing wet and wetter kisses to my nipples until he started to suck. Annnnd it was triply hard because he was stiff as fuck against my leg. There was no holding back the happy-Reese sounds by then.

I wanted to stay like that. Nearly naked and in bed with the rhythms of the ship around us, with the warmth of Danse’s chest, and his eyes, and the way my girls were just the right amount of awesome for his mouth. And the way he was looking at me. Like instead of just giving orders, Maxson had served me up on a platter. 

Danse was extra tease-y with his fingers, though. He kept tracing the middle seam in my underwear and when I told him to “fuck, just touch me already”, he pulled back. It was completely different from last time, when there’d been bodies in the mud around our treehouse, and we were done with our HUDs back up before they’d faded from infrared. 

I said: “Let me touch you, then.” 

He rolled onto his side. I got my hands down the front of his trunks and heard the satisfied hiss of Danse getting his dick stroked and his balls cupped right. Thirty seconds and he was blissed-out with the line of his jaw looking perfect— a shot for _Publick Occurrences_ if there ever was one. 

Meanwhile, the Elder was right outside our door. 

He was talking with someone. I couldn’t hear who, or what they were saying, but the tones implied something completely routine. It was a tasty contrast to Danse. He was panting with one set of nails against my back and the other full of blanket. 

“Reese, you’ll—“

“Make you lose it the second he walks in? Get it on his boots?”

With a grunt, Danse rolled us and got rid of those last bits of fabric keeping us apart. He sat on the bed with one foot on the floor and both of my calves propped against one of his shoulders. Between his pre-cum and my slickness, smeared with a calloused hand between my thighs, it was easy for him to start fucking. But not my cunt. 

Between. My thighs. Every stroke had his rosy glans sliding along the crew-cut I’d been keeping down there since razors were back in my life. No less than three times did Danse “falter” and bump right into my clit. 

Somewhere around that time the verbal parts of my brain switched off.

“Well done, Paladin.”

Out of nowhere the Elder was there. He laid a hand on my cheek. It would be honest to say I nuzzled it. 

“I knew I could trust you to follow orders.”

The praise got to Danse. He made a primitive sound and amped up the party between my legs.

“Look at what you’re doing to her,” Maxson stroked Danse’s hair before dragging his other thumb across my lips. I followed. Couldn’t help it. He collected some of Danse with the pad of that same finger and offered it up for me to suck. Which I did. With not a trace of shame. 

“She needs you.”

Danse’s groan hit my empty hole about two or three inches in. 

Both sets of eyes were so intense, it was hard to know where to look. But Maxson solved that problem for me when stood, unzipped and fed himself to Danse. With obvious satisfaction.

 _Fuck._

A moan from Danse made me realize I’d said that out loud. 

Maxson fucked him almost thoughtfully, carding thick fingers through even thicker hair. Sometimes he’d extend his reach and brush the tops of my feet. Nice, except Danse was so engrossed, he’d nearly stopped moving down below. I had to press his cock against me while grinding up into it to get any friction. 

The next mandate was for me: “Put him in.”

I didn’t hesitate, though I did need to go slow. You couldn’t seat Danse all the way on the first push. But slow was nice. Slow was wonderful. Danse used the arm that was gripping my legs for leverage. Maxson braced his other shoulder. We moved at this dreamy kind of pace until my bitten lip really started to hurt. I snuck a hand down.

“Looks like someone needs more,” came that voice from above us. The Elder backed off and split my legs to lower one onto each side of Danse. “Get her up to sitting.”

Danse did and then rocked into me. The new angle felt incredible and I said as much into his shoulder, though who knows if he heard it because Maxson had gone back to using Danse’s mouth at my three o’clock. I felt their heat against my chest, my back. 

But there was a problem with the arrangement. Every time the paladin got really into his technique he pretty much stopped the rest. Then again, we were all pretty close. All I had to do was turn to put my mouth on Maxson, too. 

It evoked the deepest, richest groan — his first pre-verbal sound. 

The two of us started trading off. Maxson would slide into one of us and leave the other with an insanely provocative closeup. And before another minute was up we’d devolved into a completely juvenile yet completely adult competition. 

I’m better, Danse said without saying. I can take him deeper, harder, and hollow my cheeks out more. No way, was my riposte. I can flutter my tongue faster, hold him for longer, and hum at the same time, but hey, I’m glad you’re here because this is fucking incendiary and at least my jaw isn’t sore. Also, did he jack off in the shower, because _damn_.

My CO might have been up on me technique-wise. Maxson’s clenched teeth and hand on Danse’s occipital showed it. But I got the prize in the end. Oh. Did you want him erupting into _your_ mouth with all the power and heat of a plasma rifle? Sorry, Danse. Maybe next time.

It occurred to me later that maybe I shouldn’t have been so damn smug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. So I'd like some specific feedback with this chapter, namely, was it easy to picture the orientations? I was pretty clear on what they were doing, but it might not have come across that way. Also, the next chapter is short. I had to split this one to keep it from getting ridiculous.
> 
> BTW, thank you for your kudos and comments. I tuck them in with me like small stuffed animals at night.


	5. Chapter 5

Round two began with Maxson tossing Danse a vial of Doctor Fletcher’s Healthful and Entirely Natural Mineral Oil. Pre-war, it’d been an ordinary household item you could pick up at any drugstore or Hardware Town. These days it was like liquid gold. Odorless, tasteless, good for anything from preserving food to rescuing hydraulics — it was also the last decent lube in the Commonwealth. 

Just one look from Maxson was all it took to get me to turn over. Damn, he was making me easy. Pretty much any word or glance was starting to have the same effect as using a gatling laser on a radroach. 

Danse stroked my body. His fingers left nerve-flowers blooming as they went. A low hum came out of me when he guided my knee up to my chest and his slick fingers circled. I voted for two almost right from the start. This wasn’t my first launch. Plus, I was excited about whose missile it was going to be. I could imagine either of them in really fine detail, so I lay there doing that with the blanket a rough comfort against the side of my face. It smelled like Abraxo with a hint of Maxson. Mmm. 

The Elder was still fully dressed as he watched us, his eyes dark, his rugged forearms folded along the back of a chair. Meanwhile, I pulsed. My clit, the puffy folds around it, everything just ached. My ass was full of the good stretch, the one that made me cant my hips back and take greedy hits of air as I used Danse’s other forearm, the one coming up from underneath me, for leverage. 

In a raw, but drowsy kind of voice, I asked for more.

“Wait for it.“ Danse was being careful and I knew why. Either one of them could probably split me in half. 

“Take your time, Paladin.” 

I squirmed, impatient, but also pretty sure where this was going to leave me. Babbling. Stunned. Yelling so loud they’d probably hear me at the airport because coming undone like this, for both of them, was somewhere I thought I’d never be. 

Still, it was taking too long. I tried touching myself. 

“Logan. You will wait.”

What the fuck? I glared and tried anyway, but Danse took my wrist in a silent reminder to be good, or at least (since it was too late for that) obey. So I shanghied Maxson’s pillow and swore into it, something no one had forbidden yet — except that only made smell of him stronger.

Danse gave me a kiss on the temple.“You’re going to feel so good,” he whispered and I sighed. Motivation for the troops? 

A tap on the door froze us, though it didn’t seem to faze Maxson at all. He shook another blanket out over the bodies on the bed and opened the door to reveal Bailey. Lancer-Initiate Bailey, who was so new to her shield that I’d seen the pinning ceremony, Maxson presiding of course. She carried a tray with some bowls and wore an expression that said she was was in danger of dropping all of it, because even though we were technically decent, there was nothing decent about the situation. 

I knew teens grew up a lot faster these days, but goddamn. Plus, hello, warn us maybe?

And it was probably just coincidence, but I was the knight who’d taken Bailey along on my clean out out of Hubris Comics. Being recognized was less than ideal. The pillow was a decent cover, but my hair was pretty distinctive, especially when it was loose, and that was usually the case, since nobody in the damn Commonwealth seemed to know how to do cornrows anymore. 

Maxson dismissed Bailey with what seemed like barely a thought for her or the rest of us. He set the tray down near the door and uncovered us again. 

“Looks like someone’s about ready.” He nodded at Danse. “Turn her over.” 

Rolling the other way with no pain to the shoulder took enough concentration that I couldn’t decide if the interruption was supposed to mean anything. And, oh boy, now the Elder had his shirt off. Danse knelt up on the bed with his cock in Maxson’s slow-stroking hand and his chin tipped up so they could kiss. 

The biggest ego in the room looked down at me. “You wanted something earlier, Knight.” 

Minutemen help me, I did. Motherfucking god complex or not, I still wanted what Maxson was going to do to me, even if it was via his Brotherhood ideal.

“You’ll need to ask for it.”

And Commonwealth help me, I did. 

Danse got between my legs. Concern and lust were at war on his face and it was tough to say which was hotter.

“I’ll go slow,” he told me. 

No. He needed to slam into me and obliterate everything I’d seen or felt since coming out of the vault. But when Danse pushed, the luxurious sense of him inside me turned out to be just fine. He started moving when I urged him to, with just hips and hands. Meanwhile, we were still being watched.

“Look at our knight. So responsive.” Danse bit his lip and his rhythm faltered. Dark eyes still tracked me from over his shoulder. “Touch her.” 

Danse was distracted enough that fumbled, though on contact I cried out into the room. 

“You’re going to keep that down,” Maxson’s voice had gone low. Dangerous. “No matter what.”

All the words were in some locked-up part of my brain. Every single one except “Sir.”

For a while I floated off on a wave of deep sensation until the mattress dipped, Danse faltered, and and I realized Doctor Fletcher wasn’t capped and on the blanket anymore. 

The breath went out of Danse. Then it hissed back in. He managed to bite down on a moan until he could let it out in the hollow of my neck. Maxson kept an eye on everything. Danse’s breathing, my eyes. He had a carnal, knowing look. And oh, that pace in his shoulder. It meant he was drilling Danse, who either needed a lot less prep than I did, was just sucking it up because the rest happened so fast. 

Danse’s rhythm had gone from an easy glide to nothing. Now it was a quick, demanding thrust. Everything below my waist turned incandescent. I had to take back the pillow and bite it to stay quiet after that, because everything I was feeling? He had to be taking ten times as much.

I could feel Maxson’s fingers on Danse’s hips. The way his words pierced both of us as fucked me through his subordinate, who was too far gone and carrying too much weight to touch me anymore; I had to do it, with my fingers in the slick, panting and striving to climb up to where I needed so badly to be.

Lucky Pierre lost it first. He fell forward and voiced the last exhale until he ran out of breath and just shuddered into me. The Elder kept going. My hand, still trapped between us, got a little more pressure with every snap of Maxson’s hips. And that turned out to enough. I came with a choked-back scream, holding onto Danse, until the onslaught ebbed and saw Maxson’s head drop before he slammed into Danse one final time and then met my gaze, eyes gleaming. 

The Elder got up first. I saved my attention for the nearly insensate man top of me, coaxing him to drop his weight — it was okay, I whispered — and stroking the back of his neck. Maxson was all indistinct movement and sound until I smelled brahmin stew and looked over to see him at the table, everything back in place except his shirt. 

There were two more bowls beside his on the table. Maxson lifted his spoon in a gesture that was half invitation, half salute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why, but these three measly pages took forever to crack, and I'm still not sure if they're the same caliber as the others. But I had to post this because trying to get everything right was consuming my soul.


	6. Chapter 6

On my first night back from the Glowing Sea, I holed up at the Rexford and slept for twenty hours. 

On my second night, Hancock introduced me to something he called Triple Threat.

We were in back of the Third Rail — not the VIP lounge, but a smaller space he’d turned into a shrine of americana lit by broken-off lanterns with candles inside. It was too far down to get any radio, but Magnolia’s voice was anyhow better suited to the mellow, stretched-out-but-tuned-in feeling brought on by stacking mentats, vodka, and jet.

John was listening to me bitch about everything that’d been getting on my nerves the last few weeks. Dirt. Blisters. Arthur fucking Maxson. The sorry state of my gear after that deathclaw had tried to hump-slash-kill me on the way back from Virgil’s cave. Missing Haylen. Missing Dogmeat. Missing toilet paper, although that had to start that with explanation of what it used to feel like in the first place. 

“Sound like a little bit of heaven, sister.” Hancock grinned from his splayed-out pose at the other end of the couch. 

“You sound like Danse,” I said. “Brother this and sister that.”

“You ain’t dragged him into town this trip. Honeymoon over?”

“I’m on my own for a while.”

Hancock played with his knife in the endearing way he had. “Told ya those tin cans were trouble.”

“Morally bankrupt pack of slutbags is more like it.”  

“Wait a sec.” The mayor put up a finger. “I distinc-,” he hiccoughed, “distinctually remember you tellin’ me last time what a ball it was up there. Time of your life, you said.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Aw, what happened? You get jealous of the coat?”

“I got my own at the Castle.” I tossed back. “Pointy hat, even."

“You should wear ‘em for me sometime,” Hancock beamed as he squeezed the the boot I had resting on his thigh. “But that’s not what I meant.”

I would’ve asked, but for a distraction. “Hey, I need to go pay a water bill. Want anything from out front?”

“Tell Charlie to throw somethin’ on the grill. Whatever we got. But no bloatfly.”

“Roger that.”

I weaved my way out to the can. Coming back, I had to wait while Chaz dealt with that over-sharing regular in the letterman jacket, even turned my back to avoid having to listen to any sob stories. Watching Mags was more fun anyway. The Rail’s star was in great form, both vocally and form-wise. I made a note to someday ask about those songs.

The bar was safe enough and I was feeling good enough not to check who was behind me. This made Rhys’ “fuck are you doing here?” a surprise. 

I turned. He had on civvies and an even saltier look than the day we’d met. “I could ask the same. They kick you out or something?”

“I got forty-eight.” 

There was something behind that. First, there was a liberty ban. Second, Triple Threat was lighting the grip Rhys had on his beer and the strain in his voice like I was using V.A.T.S. “Well, I’m on assignment.”

“Like hell you are.”

“You … are gonna wanna chill.” I indicated Fahrenheit. “See that lady in the combat armor? She’s not watching you ‘cause you’re pretty.”

Rhys showed me a face that could have won him the coat if it was the prize in an ominous look contest. “You’re bullshit, Logan. Everything you do.”

“And you’re bearing this truth ‘cause.…”

“Danse wouldn’t believe it when I said you weren’t coming back.”

 _Now_ Rhys’ “leave” made sense. Danse had probably given the kid some space in the nicest way he knew how. This knight was wound like a mutie on psycho.  

All that and I still couldn’t help the comeback. “It’s not like I report to you.”

“Right, you just report the Elder. Hey, it’s been a hot minute, you think it’s time again?” My face must have slipped because he sneered. “First time Danse wouldn’t say where either of you were. And the second time was all over the ship.”   

I wasn't about to get mad at Bailey; she was just a kid. The only thing to do was sigh. 

“Rhys, go fuck a Mirelurk. Stack them up and go fuck a bunch of them.”

He went on without hearing. “I don’t get it. You come out of the blue, take down some ferals and Danse is all whoopty-fucking-do. And then you pimp him out to the Elder?” 

A lot of intel was incoming. Rhys’ despair. The way he stressed Danse’s name. Magnolia, in her glorious rendition of “Man Enough” :

_Don't need another casual lover_

_Walkin' out the door in the morning light_

_I want a man who can stand on his own_

_Without lookin' for another lover every night_




.

Rhys was jealous. I’d had it right the first time. 

And there was something else. Something Hancock was saying, but I was too stabbed in the gut right then to think about. 

“Believe me, that was _not_ how it went.” 

“Oh yeah? Cause I’m all up for jumping rank, you know.”

I’ll be real — my lip did pull itself up and back. “All you need to do is ask Maxson. But don’t worry. He’ll work his way down eventually.”

Rhys hauled back to swing. The chems made it easy to see and I’d already planned a dodge- uppercut, but a crack and a little rain of concrete stopped the action. Fahrenheit holstered her sidearm and came over. She laid a hand on Rhys’ shoulder and smiled pointy things. 

“Party’s over, pumpkin.”

My would-be opponent jerked free. He glared at Fahrenheit and then turned for a parting shot, which might have looked cool if he hadn’t been so dusty. “Stick with your gutter friends, Logan. You don’t belong with us.” 

There wasn’t much to do after that except nod at my guardian angel, and put Hancock’s order in with the Chavster. 

“So that happened,” I said, by way of finishing the story once I’d made it back. “Poor kid.”

“Ain’t you the patron saint.”

“I dunno, John, people get hit when they don’t want to. And you know what happens if he can’t handle his one-true getting around?”

The mayor scootched up to sitting. “This oughta be good.”

“Reassigned.” I dusted off my hands. “Sorry you had a feeling there, soldier.”

Hancock blinked. He’d poured more shots and I lifted mine. “Anyway, to Fahrenheit’s powers of persuasion.”

His glass went up. “I needa make her my speechwriter.”

We slugged our drinks back and I sighed. Hancock chased his with a crack-hiss from the inhaler and passed it. Ah. There was the mellow. I leaned back and counted stars on old posters over the mayoral hat. 

“Need to get back tomorrow. Percy needs some love if I’m taking down a courser.”

“Percy?”

“My armor. Percival. You read me that poem. And you can wipe off that grin. It’s not like I’m naming guns.”

“So’s this this mean more gland-to-gland combat, with beardy-two-shoes.” Hancock never blinked, even when I threw a pillow.

“As if.” 

“Should. You get cranky in between.” 

“I’m not —“ Why was this conversation harshing my buzz? “Not with him, anyway.” 

The mayor fished around in his pillbox. “Yeah you are.”

“Boy. You don’t even know me like that.” I slid into pre-war downtown without a second thought.

He held up the mentats. “Don’t need to.”

“Well, that’d be stupid as fuck.”

“Sunshine.” Hancock was cheerfully composed as ever. “Knowin’ it ain’t ever stopped me. And maybe I’m wrong, but you and me got a couple things in common.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild plotling appears!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Raiven-Raine's OC Nate, because Reese is mouthy. Also to Kicker's Deacon for the shades and the lying. 
> 
> And to the letter P. Because without it we wouldn't have pervs or the Prydwen.

Quinlan, in his deeply-papered office, was a weapon who didn’t know it.

“Ah, Knight. You have technical documents?”

Posing, holding a pretend mic, and rasping “I got what you neeeed,” were just standard parts of my repertoire, but clearly something nobody’d ever done in front of Quinlan. He looked up from his clipboard, brows in the high latitudes, with a demeanor that said he was not. In fact. A blues man. 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” 

Triple Threat. Hell of a high, bitch of a comedown. 

“I had radiation … treatment. Ultra-high rads in the Glowing Sea. Cade wants me to keep them on for twenty-four.”   
“Scribe Neriah’s formula didn’t, —“

“Hey, I, gotta go report in twenty minutes and it occurred to me how you hate it when aeronautics manuals wind up with Kells before you can make copies.”

Quinlan lowered his voice. “He doesn’t seem to understand we are trying to maintain an archive here. You’ve found something significant?”

I was already playing with Emmett, dangling a scrap of mil-spec weave I’d found somewhere. He batted at it while trying to stay in his usual place on Quinlan’s desk. 

“Could be. I don’t know from tech. By the way, that book you’re writing? Stirring stuff. You really put life into the Elder’s experiences.”

“I merely recorded the events. You have these documents with you, I assume.”

“Five minutes and they can be in your hands. But I was wondering, while you’re waiting, could you holotape me a copy of that bio? I’m in the dark about recent history. All that stuff with Elder Lyons and the battle at Adams — nobody tells it the same way.”

Quinlan shook his head. “This volume will not be ready until after we leave the Commonwealth.”

“But the writing’s so clear and concise. C’mon, I’m straight out of a vault. Not like I’d even notice if some refs were out of order.”

Emmett was using both paws now. Bat-bat-bat. 

The head of records narrowed his eyes at me. “Knight.”

“Yes Proctor?”

“Information needs to be shared in order for a campaign to be successful.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Oh, that reminds me. Not a big deal, but I found a Grognak. Did you know there’s a Red Rocket station in the Glowing Sea? It’s almost completely underground. Really sheltered.”

“Which issue?” All of a sudden, Quinlan was sporting eyes like initiates on yao guai rib night. 

“You know, I can’t remember. Low number though, maybe teens.”

He eyed me one more time. “Five minutes. Bring everything, including a tape for the copy. And you’ll make it yourself.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

It took less time than that to bring the papers down. About as long to transcribe the tape and look up a couple other things in the main archive while I pretended to be playing Red Menace. Yup. Quinlan was a weapon of considerable magnitude. No doubt about it. 

Except now there was some intel I almost wished had stayed buried. 

_Fucking hell._

There was no relief from the explosion of thoughts in my head as Neriah got her blood samples and then started talking my ear off about some of her experimental plants. Nothing she was saying registered, but I couldn’t beg off until the first-shift dinner bell sounded. Then I had the luck to run into Danse on the way down. He was still struggling with my T-60. Would it be easier to scrap Percy? Jesus, even the frame was bent. That radded-up excuse for a dinosaur had nearly bitten me in half.

“Why the glasses, Knight?”

I hiked an eyebrow up. “You really want to know?”

He sighed. “Not if you phrase it that way. You reported in, I hope.”

“Right after lunch. Didn’t you hear Kells? Fuck, my ears are still sore.”

“I’ve told you before about language.”

And there he was: on-duty Paladin Danse, so stiff it warmed my heart. Plus, when he gave me the hairy eyebrow, it was magnificent. 

“What did LC Kells have to say?”

“I’m on watch until this gets sorted out,” I flapped a hand at the T-60. Just just a wet teddy bear on a power line was poor Percy.

“I hope this teaches you about attempting missions like this by yourself.” Danse was fingering gouges in the chest plate. “Though it doesn’t explain why you didn’t signal for pickup as soon as you were clear.”

“Funny thing — those settlements I keep dragging you to?”

“Affirmative.”

“They keep needing help.” 

“You couldn’t tell them to wait?”

“Danse, I helped build some of these places. Plus I could use their workshops to keep this guy going.”

The Paladin stepped back and rubbed the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You realize the Elder doesn’t approve of your ties to these irregulars.”

Oh for dose of calm. But Hancock wasn’t around. 

“The _Elder_ can go attend himself.”

“ _Knight _,” Danse said before looking around to see who was in earshot. A few people were. He stared until they weren’t. “Don’t think that being asked more than once allows for any kind of disrespect.”__

I hung onto Percy by one of the handles on his breastplate. The presence of the suit made three of us. Danse, myself, and the big, bad Brotherhood. 

“Except he never asked me. Technically, he didn’t even order me. He ordered Haylen. Then you.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes. If something comes through while we’re in the field —”

“That’s in the field, Danse, not in bed.”

Oh, and now he had that expression. The one that conjured an ad experience in my brain: _Collect Paladin Danse. Now with lowered brows and an extra wrinkly forehead._

He went on. “I explained to you that this is our way. I asked specifically if you wanted to refuse.”

“That wasn’t — ugggggh.” I made claw-hands. “Have you never in your life regretted a one-nighter?”

The next phrase held as much pent-upness as one Danse could contain. “The experience wasn’t up to your standards?” 

“Dammit!” Hands now up in the air, I surrendered. “I couldn’t’ve asked for a better time, all right? Flawless execution. Ten points from the Russian judge.”

“What then?”

“Forget it. I’m sorry.” The shitty part was, the second sentence was a total lie. 

“Negative. You started this.”

And it was fucking childish, but:

“Nuh-uh. He did.”


	8. Chapter 8

There were out-of-bounds parts to the Prydwen that depended mainly on rank. The brass, for instance, never accessed the rec center. They held meetings or soberly mingled on the observation deck. I’d even seen it used as an officers’ mess. Us proles, on the other hand, never set foot down there unless it was for briefing, debriefing, or when the manure hit something spinny. 

That was about the sum of what I’d learned from five days of command-deck watches. Shifts, I might add, that involved nothing but standing around with a minigun in an area both smaller and a lot less fun than Home Plate. In borrowed power armor. That wasn’t sized to fit. And smelled. For up to four hours at a time. 

Kells had made his fucking point. 

Haunting Danse and Ingram during my off hours didn’t help either. Percy had to be rehabbed from the frame out and they had plenty of other work to do. So if I wanted to take down a courser, I was stuck waiting ’til the work was done.

Breaks happened outside. I stretched or walked around the docked vertibirds, trying to be anywhere except inside my head. If there was a storm, I popped some Rad-X and went to the foredeck. Soon it was my go-to. Wider and less exposed than the forecastle, it had the added perk of being close to the engines. The white noise was soothing. It also kept sensitive talk from being overheard. The higher-ups kept going out in twos and threes for little conferences.

Maxson, on the other hand, went out there alone. 

Most nights, during second dog watch, he’d take a mug that didn’t steam and occupy the space for awhile. No idea if he was reading comics or mooning the coast because he’d dismiss anyone who happened to be out there during his Special Elder Time. Just to make sure his oh-so-serious thoughts stayed uninterrupted, he’d lock the door. People would try the handle, shrug, and head elsewhere. 

It bothered me in ways I couldn’t measure or name. 

So the next time I happened to be there when he stepped on deck, I thought, fuck it, and stayed put. Kept stretching one shoulder by bending an arm across my chest while the deck scribe who’d been unsticking one of the valves got herself good and lost. I, on the other hand, rolled my shoulders and my neck, then stood like maybe I was going to climb back into my armor. Except then I started on my quads.

“Knight.” The word sat there in the fog. It wrapped us and made the engines more remote. “I assume you have something to report.”

 _Fuck you?_ Hmm, no, too general. _Fuck command-deck watches?_ Not his department. _Fuck this weird-ass system of passing people around and ordering them up?_ Not punchy enough. Piper could help me cut it down, but she wasn’t here. 

“I have a few questions, Elder.”

Maxson nodded and went back to watching the Mass Fusion building ghost out and resolidify. 

“This whole attendance thing. How’d it get started?”

“I’ve been told it’s tradition." 

“The Scrolls say the very first brothers were married.”

He seemed intrigued, for the first time since that first night. “You’ve been reading our history.”

“You should have seen Danse jump when I asked for it.” 

Maxson ignored the rank-drop and what was maybe a cheap shot at my CO. “The Brotherhood’s founders where alive in your time. Their behavior can hardly be surprising.”

“You’re right. But I also read that your parents were a couple.”

There was a pause. “Exclusivity is the norm for families, at least until one partner dies, or the children come of age.” 

He did face me, then. “Why does this interest you?”

“It’s very different,” I tiptoed around the words, “from before the war.”

His hands were far apart on the railing and his back was straight. “As you’ve heard me say, we don’t intend to repeat your era’s mistakes.”

Could he hear my teeth grinding? Probably not. I tried flattery. “Sounds like you’re up on pre-war history.”

“I’ve read what the archives contain.”

“Then you’ve probably heard about conscientious objectors.”

My reward for pushing was a quirk of his top lip. “We do not have the luxury of sparing anyone,” and he turned back towards the dark uprights in the clouds, “who won’t follow orders.”

All of a sudden, I couldn’t stand it. The soldiers under Maxson’s command were real people. They had feelings. So did Nick and Curie. Hancock and Kent. But this so-called leader was so blinded by his rules and his goddamn legacy; he couldn’t see that people could be something besides obstacles or tools. 

So I asked. 

I’d been leaning on my forearms, one knee bent. I straightened up and took in the man, the ship, and the blue-grey wall around us. 

“No one’s ever said no to you, have they?”

It caught him, that was for sure, though I wasn’t expecting him to slowly and deliberately round on me, or show eyes that looked the same as they had over Danse’s shoulder, weeks ago. 

Didn’t expect him to cross into my airspace either. But I waited him out. There was time. 

“That is none of your concern.”

“Actually, I think it is.”

“Rest assured, I don’t plan on sending for you.”

That fucking hypocrite. It was time for a laugh — one that involved just some air going out my nose. Of course it got noticed. 

“Something amusing, Knight?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I suggest you clear the deck. Unless you’re about to summarize your findings from the Glowing Sea. Five holotapes of observations on the frequency of ghouls in a given sector and meaningless chatter with zealots who think radiation will save them are not,” another pause, during which his gaze bored into me. “why you are here.”

Danse would’ve known. Cait had seen it — what happened after someone talked to me like that. Not the specifics, but more or less. 

“Actually, there is one more thing that’s been on my mind.”

His cup was on a stack of crates. I drank and felt the expected burn before setting it down just exactly as it’d been, even turning the handle back towards him with exaggerated care. Let the fire in my throat match what was flaring up behind his eyes. 

Then I took the wooly lapels of his coat, leaned up, and kissed that lying fucking mouth until he pulled away and looked at me like I’d gone feral.

Although not before he’d tipped his hand by kissing back. 

I said: “Why haven't you sent for anyone since I left?” 

He seized me. There was no other word for it. My upper arms were in a vise-like grip and his mouth opened, hot tongue slamming against mine like we were trading insults. Our bodies collided just as hard. Then came the rush, the unexpected burst of need. It fountained out of an inner spring and into an outer one that was maybe spatially deep but spiritually kind of shallow, at least in the sense of what it wanted. 

Starbursts prickled all along the top of my head, stronger when his fingers came up to tangle in in my hair and grip it, baring my neck to find a spot just underneath my ear that he lick-sucked before sinking his teeth in. It pulled a whine out of me. The answering moan came when  
my leg went between his. Like most guys, he dressed left, and it was easy to grind my hips against him, now that he was firming up. Kinda hard to miss, anyway.

Everything in my head was spinning. He braced us, his back to the column that supported the observation deck, but it didn’t help. I wanted everything. To tear off his uniform. To stand here for hours, making out like teenagers. To get spread and opened on the deck, the worn leather of his gloves tasting sweet as he thrust fingers between my lips. To tease him while he bucked underneath me, tied, hot-eyed and seething, to his bunk. 

I wanted too much. 

And what the fuck did he want?

The ravaging eased. Slow and thorough was our new game. Now his lips were softer against mine and he hovered between kisses, although that didn’t stop him from using my ass as a handle to rock me into the strong thigh he’d eased between my legs. I was dangerously wet. Almost enough to slide off and over the railing if he made any sudden moves.

Instead, he stilled. Completely. 

“I can’t send for you.”

Trying to un-knot everything that had just tensed up in my body and brain apparently wasn’t going to work. Even my voice was tight. 

“Who says you should?” 

Aaaand great. Now both of us were planks. He dropped his arms, I backed up, and we eyed each other like ghouls facing down over the last plastic spoon in the Commonwealth.

“Then explain yourself.”

“I don’t want,” I breathed, “to get ordered up like fucking _noodles_ , all right?”

My prison of a T-60 opened when I punched the release. But even once everything had hissed and clamped shut around me, there was no protection from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-ago smut was so easy to write. Why is the angst so challenging?


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh Hayyyylen.” I shaped the words into a tempting, three-part song. 

She was cataloguing and sorting tech into working, repairable, and scrappable, or at least that’s what the neat rows, half-empty crate, and the-quarters full drum down here in the storage depot seemed like they were for. 

“Still on watches?” Her smile was the best. Even with greasy hands and a streak of dirt on her face, Haylen was so full of life. It was hard to understand how she could do it, after all the friends and lovers she’d seen put in the ground.

“Not this shift. And I had this idea.”

“Uh-oh.” She was getting up, wiping her hands on a rag. “Is this going to end with me on kitchen detail?”

“Kind of the opposite. How about a picnic?”

“Mayyybe.” She lengthened the vowel with her chin up. “Whatcha got?”

“Loaf of bread, jug of wine.” I showed her my carryall. Some Blamco and a bottle of mutfruit rosé were resting on top of other fine foods. Our mutual regard for fake pasta and cheese had already been tutted over by Danse, so we had to indulge in secret. 

“We won’t get a spot this late.” 

It was the polite term for all the niches that had sprung up in and around airport since the Brotherhood had established itself. Lots of nooks, for lots of nookie. There was a booking system all worked out on the disconnected terminal in the belly of the Prydwen. Very not-my-style. 

“I’ve got a better idea. C’mon.”

I’d kept the underground ruins off of Kells’ radar since Initiate Clarke had led me to them. And since ferals couldn’t turn knobs or swipe keycards, none had showed up to replace the dead ones, making it easy to take Haylen down the elevator, kick together a couple of mattresses and unzip a bedroll out overtop. Scribe, behold our bower.

“I’m not about to ask why you haven’t reported this place, but what’s with all the Cram?” 

“That’s for later.” I waggled my eyebrows. Haylen rolled her eyes and pushed me off balance. 

There was a hot plate and and some kitchenware that was usable once we soaked the foulness away with 23rd-century domesticity. Sidearm and a pail full of dirty water? Instant sink. Leftover vodka? Sanitizer. Maybe kitchen duty hadn’t been so far off, but at least it was short and we worked together. 

Later, full of noodles and wine, we tuned in to a Silver Shroud broadcast from Goodneighbor. Hancock had decided to boost the signal, so he’d recruited KL-E-0 to help to supply more power and build a better antenna. When the weather was good, you could get the shows from Bunker Hill all the way to the Castle. 

My other diversion was navel maneuvers. They involved pushing up Haylen’s top and tracing paths around her belly button with a fingertip.

At some point she dropped an easy hand down to squeeze mine. “So what’s with the VIP treatment?” 

A gentle kiss graced her abs before I stuck my tongue in, just to get her to laugh and push me away. Truth be told, it felt good being nice to someone. 

“I’m attending you for a change.”

“We only use that language for the Elder.” Serious Haylen was the sweetest. 

“Kidding. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Mm?”

“What got the scribes started keeping records?”

A confused look met my eyes. “That’s what scribes are for.” 

“No, I mean of all the attending. Why are there names and dates?”

I kept an eye out for the blush. Aaaand there it was. So she didn’t know. Interesting.

“You’ve seen written records?” 

“Electronic.”

“Why?” 

Now we were stuck in an old radio comedy. “That’s what I was asking you.”

“No, I mean why were you looking?”

“Just curious.” I took out a box of Fancy Lads. The _coup de grâce_. “By the way, we forgot something.”

Haylen gave me some side-eye regarding my cram-fisted attempt to change the subject, although she did sit up and hold out her hand. I put two in her upturned palm. One with pink icing on yellow cake, the other chocolate with a miniature rose. She took a bite out of the second one and mulled the concept over over. 

“I can honestly say I’ve never seen — where did you even find these?”

“Uh, the Commonwealth? There are boxes all over the place.”

She frowned. “I meant the records. You weren’t hacking Proctor Quinlan’s terminal.”

“Only the first time. Once you know a file exists, there are workarounds —“

“Reese!”

“Can you blame me? I mean, no other military force in history’s had this kind of tradition.” Air quotes around the last word. 

“That doesn’t mean you should go looking at sealed records.”

“What’s worse, a little hacking or lovesick personnel?”

Her voice went soft-but-determined after a short, sharp sigh. “I’m going to say it once. Don’t mention this. To anyone.”

Steadying my scribe with a hand on her knee seemed the least intrusive option. “I’m not looking to get him in trouble. And you’d better tone down that reaction, or someone else going to guess.” 

Haylen sighed. She put the half-eaten cake aside and took her shoulders down from around her ears. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re close. I mean, you guys trained together, right? Same cohort?” 

Eyes shut seemed to be the only way she could discuss this. “Rhys managed for years, but then with Gladius…. I kept telling him to make an excuse — getting picked was enough of an honor — but…” she shook her head. “Now, after Cambridge, even Danse can see it.”

“Was Rhys,” I felt a lot less sure of myself, “why Danse and I —“

“I don’t think so. It’s hard to put into words, but I relax around you. So does the paladin. You’re just so different, I mean, you haven’t taken the Oath and…” She wrung her hands. didn’t think people did that in real life. Then she finally hit on something. “You’re with us, but not of us, if that makes any sense.”

A certain boy-king with hormonal excess also came to mind. I flopped down on our far-too- troubled love nest and stared at flaking concrete. This was starting to look less like happy funtimes with every passing minute. 

I said: “You know this stuff can get people killed, right? 

Haylen turned the chocolate Fancy Lad around at the edge of her plate, but was silent. 

“This system works if you’re all wham-bam-ad-victoriam, but not everybody’s wired like that. Give some sap a couple hits of oxytocin and they’ll fall. You’re a medic, you know that.” 

I took a cake of my own. Normally they were great, but this one cloyed. “Last week I saw a bird go down and you know what I thought? Was that lancer or gunner a split-second off because they were _pining_ for someone? I mean, how do you even function after two hundred years?” 

She shook her head. “It wasn’t always this way.” 

“I figured that out. Attending used to be longer-term, right? And more of a bodyguard-cum — I mean—“ I was quick to add, “a bodyguard and a secretary. Valet maybe.” 

The scribe nodded. “I think so. The records you saw — when did they start?”

“With Owyn Lyons.”

“I wonder if the scribes were concerned with lineages. Elder Lyons had only one daughter. If a son was born…” she pondered, tapping her lip. “Were there many?”

“Lyons had a few, over many years. Sarah, a few, but she didn’t live long. The three Elders between her and Maxson racked up kind of a lot, since none of them reigned for —“

“We call them tenures.”

“Whatever. And there aren’t records for when the senior officers call somebody. When did they get involved?”

With her finger, Haylen smoothed out wrinkles in our bedroll. “I don’t know. Besides, it’s much less formal with anyone else.”

“And when did it go from once in a while to more than once a week?”

“The Elder — “

“Is young, sure, nobody gets that more than me. Wait: I get that better, he gets it more. Than anybody in the Commonwealth, except for maybe those ten-cap —“

“Stop it!”

But I didn't; she was damn well going to hear me out. “Besides, there had to be, at some point, an advisor. Someone older who said: come on, Arthur. It’ll fall off if you don’t give it a rest. Plus it’d do you good, you know. To ask for something.”

“Everything’s been asked _of_ him,” came back at me with more force than Haylen’s tone belied. “He was sent across the continent at ten. Never any friends his own age. In combat since he was thirteen. So if a few of us are called on to provide comfort, then we’ll do it without needing to be _courted_.”

“A few?” I said, ignoring the shiv in my side. “You need to see the size of that list.”

At that point Haylen reined in, as something seemed to click. “This isn’t about the Brotherhood, or its traditions.”

“Believe me I am not —“

“Bullshit!” she bit back and it was so intense it would have rocked me if I’d been standing. Unbidden in my mind was Hancock waving his tin of mentats back and forth like he was doing some kind of semaphore. 

“Who does this?” she went on, visibly angry now, “Who would pry into these kinds records unless they were looking to find fault?”

I shot up to kneeling. “I don’t need to find fault. It’s a death trap. You all think you’re protecting him? Keep going. The Caesars, the Borgias, it’s happened before.” 

My lover’s face was dark. “This is our way. I served, Danse served, even Arthur Maxson served until he acceded and called on others.”

“Wait, what?”

“Following orders is how we endure.”

“No, you said Maxson served.”

“I …” she shook her head, derailed. “Well he must have.”

“When?” A thickness built in my throat. I remembered Lancer-Initiate Bailey, too raw not to blush, too inexperienced to be able to look without seeing.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Haylen. Who the fuck ordered him and when?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned myself that posting this story chapter by chapter would be new and thus tricky. Little did I know that thinking the initial ideas through would be so damn troublesome as well.


	10. Chapter 10

Getting off watch at zero fuck thirty was only fun because it was going to be my last one for, hopefully, ever. The relief, some senior knight with a piss-poor attitude, had the flaps to smile before she put her helmet on, daring me to complain about the breach of flight deck protocol. I handed off the gatling laser hard. Yeah, It was time to get off this tub. 

Clanking through to the command deck was disorienting until I saw the door to the observation deck was closed. Right away it got me thinking. Was there some super-classified meeting going on at the ass-end of the night? Hard to imagine the brass tweaking their sacred schedules for anything less than a full-frontal. 

There was no interior watch this shift and the bridge was two levels down, so I eased over to the door and dialed up my helmet’s audio. One set of footsteps. Pacing. Fifty-to-one odds on who that could be. 

Well, fuck. No time like the present. 

I swung out of my armor and onto the deck with a fist held up a little too long before knocking. The answering “come” embodied everything I’d been trying to ignore.

Maxson was silhouetted against the windscreens by a waning moon. Nope, no drama there. His twice-unreadable face was towards me, _uno_ because it was in shadow and _dos_ because it’d been completely blank every time I’d seen it since clomping off the foredeck two days ago. Not even the regular scowl on his face, _nada_. Plus he seemed to be everywhere, or at least it felt that way, when I nearly jumped every time the damn coat came around.

Time for a deep breath and a jump.

“Elder, do you have a moment? LC Kells asked me to speak with you.”

He nodded. “Secure the door.”

I turned around and dogged it before stepping up to salute. Politeness 10 or higher was key if anything was going to budge. 

“Any particular reason you’re here at this hour?”

I could’ve asked the same, but no sense stirring the pot. “Just got off watch, Sir.”

“So. Lancer Captain Kells says you wish to take leave.”

Aaaaand no wonder he’d had me shut the door. He already fucking knew. Cue the string section. Minor key. 

“Not leave, _per se_. It’s to follow another lead, Sir.”

“Without Paladin Danse, I hear.”

It was hard not to flinch. “Yes, Sir. He said he’d be okay with it if I got clearance.” 

“Okay” actually meant Danse putting down the buffer he’d been using to boost Percy’s energy resistance and giving me a disappointed look before nodding towards the forward part of the ship. Not smart to be wordy here. 

The Elder waited.

“A Brotherhood presence might unsettle the locals. Soloing would make it easier.” Hancocking or Prestoning it would further increase the odds, but Maxson didn’t need to know that either. 

“No doubt you’ll be able to call on your militia or mercenary friends.”

Revealing how much Maxson knew might not be his best strategy, but it was making my standing pretty fucking transparent. 

“So let’s summarize. You’re taking on an essential mission, which will directly lead to discovering the Institute.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The nature of which you can’t reveal to Kells or myself.”

 _Don't hesitate_ “That’s right, Sir.”

“Opting to leave behind your sponsor, who is one of the best soldiers on this tour.”

This was torture. “Yes, Sir.” 

I braced myself to either get lit up, or hauled out and thrown over the railing, maybe both.

“Then you’re cleared. Provided.”

 _Cleared?_ But wait — the fucking fine print. 

“That you leave all Brotherhood property on the Prydwen, including your tags. I don’t want you identified if you’re taken.”

I very nearly squirmed, wondering how much he wasn’t saying? Had Maxson talked to Danse? Did they think I was planning on leaving? Sure it’d crossed my mind, but even so, the Elder was making it real easy-

The next thought practically lanced me. Leaving with nothing of theirs meant I could be written off instead of tracked down and punished for desertion. In a second, everything was yawing out of the sky like that bird from last week. Maxson wanted me gone. The snooping and accusations might’ve been okay if I was useful to the Brotherhood or even just to him. Instead I’d been spying, judging — basically being as irritating as molerats on a trampoline. 

There was no way to meet his eyes, so I settled for the coat he’d slung over the railing. A piece of paper was in one of the wide lower pockets, just a corner sticking out. For some reason it struck me. I’d never seen him put anything in there, not even his hands. 

“Something you wish to say, Knight?”

Okay, maybe setting foot on this death-ballon was my biggest mistake, and now I could get clear, plan, find another way to kill a courser. Or build up the settlements. Live. Abandon the baby who’d spent three months wrapped in his dad’s lies, in my arms for only two. 

Not a baby, I reminded myself. A ten year old boy, at least. 

But one thing tugged. It’d come up like a shark, taking one of my legs, leaving me barely able to move. 

“Sir, I’d like to apologize. For the other night.” 

I didn’t dare look any higher than his belt. Actually, that was still bad. Back to the railing.

“Go on.”

“I’m just … I’m sorry.” 

He shifted, but his tone didn’t. “I’m curious to know what for.”

My jaw and throat hurt with everything unsayable. How I was sorry for mouthing off, but even sorrier for expecting a courtesy he’d probably never had. Sorriest for the names and date that’d come up in lurid green on black, after I’d stopped fighting with Haylen and finally pinged a terminal. Not like anyone could be innocent these days, but holy mother of fuck. 

In the end there was hemming and hawing and: “I’m not trying to cover my ass, Sir, or make you change your mind. I just apologize for being less than you expected.” 

I almost wished for some kind of alarm; mutants, synths, hell, even a grease fire. Or being dismissed and knowing that he was really done with me. But there was nothing. And now my eyes had adjusted. He didn’t look blank. Or even angry. It seemed like he was thinking. 

“You may have been more.” 

Auditory hallucinations. Had to be.

“It turns out I’ve also failed to understand some things.” he gave me a long look, “that are more explicit now.”

A flame licked at me. That was one hell of a word choice. Especially when his gaze was so committed. Face to body to boots and right back to my eyes. 

“It also strikes me we could take this as an opportunity. Should you wish.” 

Maxson held his palm out, fingers slightly spread. 

Asking.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you guys, here it is. Probably a lot more rough (writing-wise, heh) than it should be, but I leave for Burning Man in thirteen hours and theres still a lot to do. Catch you on the flipside, in a week or more. 
> 
> I'd like to thank all the amazing writers who propped me up, and helped me, and even read this when it wasn't quite their thing. I'm talking to baph0maidn, raiven-raine, tessa1978, kicker, pip-girl-111, gaqalesqua, missbubbles, and all the other people who kudosed and might even yet comment one day. You gave me life and made writing this so rewarding that I didn't even mind it eating up my life for the last -- yikes, has it only been three weeks. Damn, son! 
> 
> Anyway, l love you guys. But in very pure ways, I assure you. :)

It was like a bucket of water. Hot, roaring through; pooling slick in dark places. 

And, hell, if I was leaving anyway ….

When I took Maxson’s hand, his broad thumb skated over my knuckles. The thrill made it impossible not to close the distance and kiss him, cup his jaw, not tracing the scar but sure as hell not ignoring it because I wanted so much of him, maybe even the flaws. 

He tongued me open. Inhaled me like I was roses. It worked because his scent was better than woodsmoke, or leather, or the long-ago memory of coffee. It did things to my brain and to the little one lower down. Being smaller made it more intent on what it wanted— that was my theory, anyway. 

We pressed our mouths and bodies into one another until I couldn’t stand it. I wanted his skin, without all the straps and buckles and also, to be blunt, his cock. It was wrong to have had so little of it after seeing it so much. 

But we could fix that. 

Maxson smiled, one corner of his mouth higher than the other. He stepped back to toss his coat, fleece up, onto the deck with a look that announced more clearly than the ship’s P.A. system I was going to be next. Then he lifted me — just a reminder that, yeah, he could bench me no problem — and lowered us, first to one knee, and then onto my back, without so much as a grunt of effort — though I got one after he sank between my legs and ground into me as I started kneading his ass. 

The orange came off with possessive sweeps of his rough hands; my ploy was kisses. Once he had me down to nothing, my lips grazed every part of him I undressed: his neck; the hollows of his shoulders — where a girl could maybe lay hear head after he’d fucked her into a coma — his elbows, and his palms. I licked them in ways that made him drag in a short sharp breath, just like when I ran my lips along sensitive finger-pads. With a jab-punch, round two went to me. 

His chest was even better. Pursed lips met every scar I could find and contact with one closest his nipple got a rumble out of him, which sure as hell had me trying to see what happened if I did more of that. 

Made him rough, it turned out. He savaged my mouth and palmed the twins so he could roll and thumb my nipples into hot little peaks. But I kept right up on my end — tit for, well, tit — until a groan throbbed it’s way out of him and right through the cells of my neck — and wasn’t that fun, to be able to do that to _him_ for a change? 

My comeuppance was bigger. 

Still in half his suit and kneeling he got me — I don’t even know how it happened. We wound up shoulders to knees, sternum to spine; my delta right up to the knowing mouth he lowered onto it a few seconds later. 

It felt dirty to be so open. Obscene to watch him taste me while his eyes were still on my goddamn face, so maybe he could watch me arch and try desperately to think of something to do with my hands — he wasn’t exactly clear about his motives. Could’ve just been to just waste my brain and leave me gasping. He sure was getting there. I was grabbing at thighs that felt like they were forged. Exploring buckles and zips so I could find something to grip as he sampled everything, clit to taint and back again. 

After that, thoughts of anything besides the expert stiffening of his tongue as he plunged it inside me were pretty much gone. 

He held me like I was nothing. Seemed satisfied to close lips around my greedy pith and suck with an almost-tenderness that had me groping for a cold leather sleeve. It was to hold back the sounds that would’ve had every guard from every station on board pounding on the door if they’d heard them.

Even as my mind drifted, my hips unconsciously matched every lap and suckle. I was his paten, his grail. 

And I didn’t so much come as get touched off. Powder-keg, mini-nuke, primitive or new; I exploded the second he flipped the switch. Pleasure tore through me — clit, to womb, to navel — and scattered shrapnel everywhere else. My voice, even muffled, reached for him as if he could ease all the savage pleasure or tame it so I wouldn’t lose my mind 

I was lowered, still weak, to our _ad hoc_ blanket, with just enough will to open my eyes and see him wipe his beard on my discarded tank top. He regarded me with what felt a lot like relish. Stroked a palm from neck to mons before he started unlacing his boots. 

The thing to do seemed like sit up and help him, but his hand to my chest blocked me.

“Stay,” he said, “we’re not finished.” 

So I stretched, basking in the richness of his voice and enjoying the buzz, upstairs and down.

Warm and furred and now naked, he covered me. I arched into his weight, blind hips seeking contact, but he was a little too low. As his thumb skimmed my lips got captured. It was a charge to feel him twitch as I sucked and then fluttered my tongue in ways that could’ve reminded him what’d happened the last time we’d been together, or what I could do to him if we found ourselves that way without Danse around. 

And that maybe tipped the scale because he made me wait, Just stroked himself along until I was miles past wanting. He glided, nudged against my channel, with both my hands pinned, but he didn’t mount me.

“Want something?”

All of a sudden, I got really fucking pissed that he was pushing me again. 

“Just fuck me.”

A frown below sharp eyes. “You know better than that.”

“Fuck me, Sir,” I said tartly.

He chuckled, but I could feel an edge below the velvet. “If you’re good.”

“Aren’t we past that?”

“We’re never past respect, Knight. It’s time you learned that.”

My rank, in that voice, in this context implanted the same spear of lust it always did. But the feeling was all wrong now, and trying to twist away was futile. All I could move was my head.

“So ask nicely,” he brought my chin back around, “unless you’d rather beg.” 

My protest drowned in the throaty noises he made as he claimed my mouth again. The hot, pulsing length of him lay against me, front to back. 

Wait, my ass wasn’t enough? Did he need me to take the goddamn Oath right here?

“You can give in,” he said with another mild jab at me. One hand was holding both of my wrists now. “There’s no one else here to see.”

“Thought you liked that.”

“Or make you jealous.”

He’d planned it. The hand stroking my face was over my mouth before I could argue. His cock nudged me again. I was seriously going to lose it. 

“You must have looked hard to access those records. And I thought, what would drive such a beautiful, relic.”

A muffled protest, which he ignored. 

“To even care enough to know who I had or hadn’t fucked—“ he stabbed at me again, “since I’d had her.”

He was wrong, so fucking wrong. But even if there was some molecule of truth, in all that bullshit, he didn't have to go and say it!

“So give in,” he dropped his hand, he went back to tracing my lips, “and ask.”

“Please,” I said, nearly spitting it. 

“Better. Although we should work —” I could feel the very tip of him, but he was such a damn rock, there was no way to get any leverage “ —on that tone. Say it again.”

“Please,” I said, nerves shot, nearly voiceless, “Fuck ….”

“Good enough.” And he thrust inside. 

Half the ache, when he took me, was desire but the other half was from having gone way too long without anything in there. Even after coming, I was too tight, and the way he was built didn’t help. Thrusting into it was worse. All it did was jolt a needy fucking sound out of me. 

“Relax,” Maxson growled, like this was my very first skin-slap.

He waited until I stretched. Tried me out with slower strokes until picking the pace up wouldn’t break me. Then he started in … and left. 

It was bizarre how far and how fast he went away. With Danse, with Haylen he’d been there for every moan. But there on the deck, Maxson’s mind was elsewhere. I might’ve been a soapy sponge for all he cared, like I’d come, and he checked me off a list. Next item …

Cupping his balls didn’t sway him. Tracing his furrow, got just a grunt. Two fingers against his hole turned into a nope-not-even of grabbing my wrist and and forcing it back down, although that did get him to change his angle. Now he scooped up into me, with some driving roll of his hips and fuck, was that distracting. Also new; it felt like I was climbing again, even though I’d never been there without and dedicated mouth or hand on task. 

The heat built between us, so I clung to him, heels planted, arching up to meet him like it was fuck or die. Then, out of nowhere came the plunge — a vertibird off the trapeze before the rotors caught — and I shot up, full throttle, every gauge redlined, as the evidence of my climax surged out of me, wetting us both. 

I couldn’t tell who was more surprised, me for getting hands-free seconds, or him for maybe seeing something new, because he looked down and swallowed, as if a lady arriving all over his nice warm coat was the hottest thing a young Elder could see, aside from, I didn’t even know, the Institue blowing up. 

It was a complete and utter 180 from Nate’s hell-naw eyes the first time it’d happened to us. Unfortunately, we were already married my then. Maxson’s eyes, by contrast, were fuck-yeah.

That was right about when he started to unspool. 

It might’ve been the raw proof of what he’d done to me, or that I was even more sensitive now and kept giving him ragged sighs, but his thrusts were a less controlled. A lot less. He started panting, striving to bring me something he’d switched off before. A breathy moan made him redouble his pace. 

So I played it up. 

It wasn’t hard because I sure as fuck hadn’t been faking. But the melt, the hazy eyes, the moan that went right for the hollow of his neck, were getting to him. 

I went for throaty cries with that little-girl inflection. “Oh, god, Sir, mmmm, I just — ohhhhh.”

And they worked.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Fuck, if he wasn’t taking us nearly through the deck now. 

My hands went up to his shoulders, chastely, as if our bottom halves were’t ramping up to fusion temps. Stepped down the force of my hips, even got him to cradle the back of my head, stroke my hair and, for the first time, say in a whisper, a litany.

“Yes. You’re so — yes.” It was broken, forced out, like his throat was something rusty or never been used like that before. 

So I took a risk. 

“Need you to come inside me, Arthur, please ….” 

And oh how he did. 

Guess he really meant I should work on that tone. 

In the afterglow, in the moments of catching our breath and feeling our sweat cool, as he traced the lines of my collarbone and my face, I watched him and waited for the instant his gaze settled onto mine and stayed.

Then I started to plan.


	12. Cohesion Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought I wasn't this nerdy. You couldn't have been more wrong. Look at what all those theory and analysis classes have wrought. A moody, electronic playlist filled with lots of bump and grind. 
> 
> Listen individually on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/kepl3rian/cohesion) or [Soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/user-272077556/sets/cohesion). I apologize to fans of Spotify, but your site keeps breaking my browser.

Maxson’s Theme: Gone From My Sight  - Boomtown

> _I came rise up in this rising sea_
> 
> _I came to seek my fortune from the east_
> 
>   
>     
>  Dark. Tense. Moody as fuck. Remind you of anyone? The snare also sounds nice and military; sure builds tension near the end.  
> 
>  

Chapter 1: Air - Redhead Girl

> _When the redhead girl goes by_
> 
> _The course of time stands still_
> 
>  
> 
> Reese’s experience of Haylen is light made audible. A little relief from a 
> 
> dangerous world. 

 

Chapter 2: Meg Meyers - Desire (Hucci Remix)

> _I want to feel you. I want it all._
> 
>  
> 
> Breathy vocals; deep, slow bass, lots of moaning, you get the idea. Bass = desire/sex in this playlist , so be prepared for a bunch of it.
> 
>  
> 
>  

Chapter 3: Ellie Goulding - Tessellate

> _Triangles are my favorite shape_
> 
> _Three points where two lines meet_
> 
> _Toe to toe, back to back, let's go my love; it's very late_
> 
>  
> 
> The bass is still thumping, but with more thought now. Sax + bassis for Reese’s desire/confusion. Again? Wait, what?
> 
>  

 

Chapters 4 and 5: Underworld - Crocodile (Oliver Huntemann Remix)

> _Slow foot_
> 
> _Slow fast_
> 
> _Waiting for a [k]night to wrap around us_
> 
> _I could go in there_
> 
> _Get some sweet stuff_
> 
>  
> 
> A driving tempo for Danse & co. It’s steady. Mechanized. Our favorite spoilers are accentuated by the choppy reverb on the vox and, of course, some broody synths. That snare comes back near the middle of the song, with the kick and some syncopated hi-hat. More insistent beats slam us through to the end, following the action. 

 

Chapter 6: Massive Attack - Take it There 

> _Needs are met, trees are bloom_
> 
> _I'm the one to hear the tune_
> 
> _I meet you there, meet you soon_
> 
> _I meet you there, give you breath_
> 
> _Take you there_
> 
>  
> 
> These raspy, slurred vocals are pure Hancock. Time’s stretched out here, 
> 
> with echoes. The keyboard’s a little lonely during the bridge, but mostly easy-does-it, like the man himself. 
> 
>  

 

Chapter 7: Lorelei Carlson - Rape Me (Nirvana Cover)

> _Hate me_
> 
> _Do it and do it again_
> 
> _Waste me_
> 
> _Rape me, my friend_
> 
>  
> 
> A seriously conflicted Reese is now fighting with everyone and everything This is a mess, does nobody see it? And why the fuck am I so on edge?
> 
>  
> 
>  

Chapter 8: Blue Foundation - Eyes on Fire

> _I'll seek you out_
> 
> _Flay you alive_
> 
> _One more word and you won't survive_
> 
> _And I'm not scared of your stolen power_
> 
> _I see right through you any hour_
> 
>  
> 
> Trembling strings in the background, drawing out the simmering tension. The bass comes back for awhile, and then male background vocals so both combatants can bring it. 
> 
>  

 

Chapter 9: Beth - Prayer in C (Lily Wood & Robin Shultz Cover)

> _Yeah, you never said a word_
> 
> _You didn't send me no letter_
> 
> _Don't think I could forgive you_
> 
>  
> 
> There’s still blame, but this is a sadder echo of what Reese was been feeling before she found out something critical. 
> 
>  

 

Chapters 10 and 11: Daughter -  Get Lucky (Daft Punk Cover)

> _We've come too far_
> 
> _To give up who we are_
> 
> _So let's raise the bar_
> 
> _And our cups to the stars_
> 
>  
> 
> A much softer thump and snare are back for him, bass guitar for her, looser and not as angry now. And can we get a major key in here? No? Okay, fine you two. Stay moody. 
> 
>  


End file.
